my bachelorette party

I'm writing this because I don't want to forget a single moment of my bachelorette weekend.

My best friend and maid of honour, Jennie, with the help of the rest of my wedding party and some of my friends, planned the most amazing, fun-filled weekend for me.

Because I love to plan parties and because I thrive on lists, spreadsheets, and all the other things that go along with project management, I tend to have a hard time giving up control. I would much rather do something myself rather than burden someone else with it. I tried to convince my Jennie to let me plan my own bachelorette party because I felt bad having her take on such a big task for my sake. She told me to shut up.

I am so glad I did.

She kept everything a secret until the last possible minute, planning a whirlwind weekend of activities for me. Every single detail was thought through, and everything she planned was so perfect for me it made me tear up constantly.

After a relaxing and wonderful Friday at my co-maid of honour's place, we headed over to my future parents-in-law's house so Brian's mom could help us with our beehives (having been a queen bee herself in the past). Using her old high school yearbook photos as inspiration, Jennie insisted on doing my hair for me. Every time I reached up to help, she swatted my hand away and told me to chill out. She did let me take this photo of the process, though.

And that turned into this:

Then we headed into the city to get ready for the evening's activities in our hotel room (which was also a surprise).

We assembled our outfits and headed to the cutest little Cuban restaurant for dinner.

Everyone had dressed for the "Sixties Chic" theme that Jennie had come up with!

We then headed to a Karaoke place, where Jennie had rented us a private room!

Here's me in all my tacky attire, looking like a crazy old lady!

There was a Pin the Nose on the Lion game, with my poor fiancé's face in the centre.

My full outfit, in all its glory

Last stop was a the upstairs of a great pub, where much hilarity was to ensue.

At the very end of the night.

But not before some of the girls tried to pick up — literally — a few men.

The next morning in our hotel room: a very bright beam of light!

And then a quiet breakfast before we all headed back to our separate cities.

Thank you, everyone, for the best night ever!

elke & mason

How cute is this guy?


His mom is one of my favourite people. She and I met in high school on the swim team after she'd moved to my school from Cape Town (via Wisconsin). Elke and I used to float on the mats in my family's backyard pool and talk about which European countries we dreamed of visiting first.  Elke, a year older than me, went backpacking the summer after she graduated high school. All summer I waited impatiently for her to return so I could ask her about every city she'd been to.


She returned at the end of that summer, bronzed, and carrying a bag full of rolls of film to be developed. Remember how exciting that used to be, dropping off film after a vacation or big event? The moment you'd first peel open the envelopes and relive all those moments again. That was the best!


So, as I sat on her bedroom floor as she packed her final boxes for first year university,  I got to flip through all her photos and ask a million questions about what she'd seen. I always looked up to her for her sense of adventure, her totally zen attitude, and her tireless energy. Over the last few years, I've seen her find a great job, buy a first home, get married, and now, have a baby. Girlfriend's got her stuff together!

I am so happy for Elke and her husband, Matt for the birth of their first child,  Mason.  Elke's positive energy is infectious, and I'm sure her son's will be, too. I predict great things for their whole family.


 

bake and ache

Lately I've been craving two things or, rather, I've been pulled in two directions: domesticity and adventure. I want to pull up my roots and tumble just as much as I would love to fluff up my nest.

Have you ever felt so full of ideas and inclinations that it borders on being painful? That is the best way to describe what I'm feeling now. Nothing—not my journal, my apartment, the hours of the day, my heart—can contain all the crazy energy I am buzzing with.

I read somewhere that people in their twenties suffer through a "greying of emotions." I wish I knew to whom I should attribute that quote, but I don't. Whoever it is, I think they've got it wrong. This is yet another moment of stepping out on one's own. It's rich black and feathery white, and every other lovely and gross colour you could imagine. I'm working on painting a crazy composition with what's on my palette.

divide and multiply

This holiday season, I have been slicing up my time into neat little packages: a lunch here, a sleepover there, and some furious holiday baking and last-minute gift shopping in between.

Shuffling back and forth via go train and street car, I managed to fit in a few visits (though not nearly as many as I should) during several consecutive snow storms. Nature and circumstance conspired against me in several ways. At one point, Amy and I were stranded for 3 hours after she drove over a recycling bin, jamming it into the wheel well of her mom's truck and rendering the vehicle immobile. Only hours later, I was trapped in between the track and a building, when a go train blasted me into the wall with a powerful assault of snow, ice, and rocks. I was the only one who had walked out onto the platform, so about 50-100 people watched from the comfort of the glass shelters as my suitcases and I were absolutely covered in snow.

Cabs were hard to come by, and the walking was tough with my heavy bags, but each time I reached a destination or saw the familiar face of a friend or family member greeting me, suddenly, all the wintery strife was forgotten.

Let's face it, some times it really sucks to divide up my time and my visits into short intervals in different cities and towns. It's a logistical nightmare and it involves a lot of me lugging bags in snowstorms. It also sometimes makes me sad that people I love are so spread out, that they don't know or necessarily get along with each other, and that I am never able to see everyone I want to.

I take the train from Montreal to Toronto. I am picturing, in the moving blackness out the window, all the things I will do and all the questions I will ask and all the faces I will finally see again in person over the holidays. In my pocket agenda, I know who I get to see, and what we will do. A lot of this is determined by the schedules of not only my friends, but by their families, boyfriends, children, fiancés. My extended world is growing at an alarming rate.

Initially, I was thrown off as I planned this trip. Organizing visits is becoming a lot more complicated with so many more people thrown in the mix. My life is fragmented enough without taking into account the increasingly carved up and weighed- out time slots of my friends. We used to have each other and holidays with immediate families. Now we have lunches with mothers-in-law, office christmas parties, baby showers of co-worker's fianceés...and so it goes.

Clearly, this is how it goes. How, you know, life goes. As the fingers of my childhood friends are steadily being colonized by diamonds, and our conversations shift to matters of 5-year plans and mortgages, I feel a knot forming in my stomach.

But something changes in me once I actually arrive and start spending time with my friends and family and the new people in their lives. I see changes in them that make me so proud and reassured. I take an immediate liking to the people who have stolen my time with my friends, and quickly understand why they have captured their hearts. I don't feel usurped. Instead, I feel a space open up in my heart and in between our lives that can only be filled by what is new.

Even though, over many drinks, my friends and I laughed at Kait when she said, "your heart just swells," at this time of life, I think she was brave to own up to this uncomfortably strong, sweeping feeling.

When I met Rozzie's 3-month-old nephew, Mason (feet pictured above), I recognized what I'm sure is clear to others but hasn't been to me: that as things grow and change, I don't have to divide myself into pieces and become less than whole. I'm not losing anything. Rather, I make room for new people, traditions, and feelings as I grow up.

The multiple lives I live now, filled with those I love (and those they love) in countless cities, are richer than any simple, streamlined life I could ever struggle to create.

Merry Christmas.

dispassionate fashion

I just finished reading a book called 10 Steps to Fashion Freedom, which basically makes you look through your closet and bad shopping habits, and seriously evaluate how your clothing reflects your inner state. I have absolutely gutted my wardrobe, tossing most of my spur-of-the-moment purchases, and things that I just bought without really thinking about WHY I was buying them.

Now my closet and shelves look pretty empty, but very organized and functional. I now look at my closet and only see stuff I love, and that I know functions as a wardrobe—not just a mess of random pieces. The last chapter of the book is called "Shopping." It doesn't encourage you to go out and replace all the stuff you've just gotten rid of, rather to make a list of your clothing priorities (in my case: a suit for job interviews, a black cardigan, a flowy summer dress, and sandals (check). It helps you keep track of what you actually need so that the next time you go shopping, you have a plan.

Kate recently wrote about her vow to give up shopping (a favourite pastime of hers), and it is nice to know that I am not alone in my downscaling. I have always loved clothing, shopping, and hunting for unique pieces, but being broke and looking critically at my own consumption habits has certainly tempered my fashion zeal.

The pressure to look trendy and current, and to compete with the throngs of twentysomethings (with their jobs and disposable income) is something I find difficult to keep up with. With Facebook photo albums becoming like weekly fashion reviews, it seems everyone feels the need to keep a fresh crop of clothing and accessories on hand. It's amazing how many people can't afford to realistically do this, and the lengths they will go to in order to try.

The age old trick of the buy-wear-return of clothing items seems to be happening more and more frequently. People who do this habitually seem to me to be selfish, shallow, and desperate. I put it in the same league as the dine-and-dash (an instance of which I witnessed last night) which really exposes weakness of character. Basically, if you can't afford it, eat at home, or learn to get creative with your existing wardrobe, for god's sake.

Who knows, maybe once I get a job I will change my tune about clothing consumption. But I really think that it's one thing to enjoy fashion and stay current, but quite another to be fixated to the point of obsession, and worst of all to judge those who you feel don't keep up as well as you do.

balconies are dangerous

The air is thick and dreamy with humidity and mist .

A few days ago, I participated in a research project that a friend of mine is working on. As a participant, I was instructed to photograph two days of my life, and email my friend my favourite 5 or so photos. After sending them, we met to discuss the contexts of the pictures, my reasons for choosing the ones I did, and what themes arose from the collection.

The whole process was very interesting, self-reflexive, and mildly depressing. It was unfortunate that one of the days I photographed was clouded by a wicked hangover (from wine and pineapple spritzer, of my own making), as half the photos were of me lying melodramatically in various slumps around the apartment.

The other participant and myself noticed a several common themes between our photo collections: lying down, sitting, eating, reading, drinking, typing, and (the one redeeming theme) exercise.

And, thus far this summer, this is the simple life of a grad student. The pendulum of my life swings between books and booze; windows and tv screens are my portals to the world. I do love it, but I can't do this whole sedentary lifestyle thing for much longer. In the meantime, I sit on my balcony enjoying the night breeze, and watching as my dreams shift from academia and towards the yet-to-be-determined.

At least I am still dreaming.

Also, mother of pearl this is addictive.

keep on keeping on

Is it just me, or, despite the increasing availability of online communication tools and social-networking software designed to connect people, it is becoming proportionately harder to actually keep in touch?

The problem lies in the frequency at which all of these social tools emerge, become wildly popular, and are rendered obsolete when replaced by newer social tools.

I can't keep up with the very things that are supposed to help us keep up with things. This is a problem.

I consider myself to be fairly technologically savvy. And, after all, I am doing my MA thesis on just this kind of subject matter: blogs as tools for story-sharing and connection. But just as I begin to investigate the idiosyncracies of blogs, to try to understand all the virtual chatter that takes place in the blogosphere, and to describe the voices that "speak" within it, suddenly things are becoming very...quiet.

Large parts of the blogosphere are becoming ghost towns. Dusty blogs sit stagnant, left months without an update or a comment and are declared dead after 3 months of inactivity. Internet fame is fickle, and it is hard to sort through all of the ghost blogs and their dead links, to track down living blogs, even using search sites such as technorati. This becomes especially problematic for my research.

The voices, the words, and the people who are sharing them, have taken their digital soapboxes and begun to move on. The internet hosts a travelling caravan of online entertainers and raconteurs. Those who have something to say, want what they say to be heard. They follow the action. They go to Youtube and Facebook. On a more personal level, when the next social/sharing phenomenon comes along, and I believe that will be sooner than we think, will I have to pack up all my friends again, only to "find" them again on another online venue? This is silly, and yet I am a slave to the system because I move, physically, around a lot and I do want to keep in touch.

Maybe blogs are just a moment in time, evidence of one attempt to connect us to eachother. My generation seems to be one of movers and travellers. Perhaps communication technology is simply being developed this rapidly to try to keep up with the pace of life of those who move around so much. Maybe it is just racing to keep up with us.

coming of age

The most hilarious moment of my twenty-fourth birthday? Calling my grandma to thank her for my gift, and finding her pissed off. Huffing and puffing indignantly, she picked up the phone, declaring,

"Well, I had to drag myself away from watching Weightlifting After Age 60 on TV to answer your call, just so you know!"

"Grandma, seriously?"

"Yes, and as I was watching those men, I was thinking to myself, 'holy hannah, I better get myself up and moving one of these days. There are people out there close to my age in a lot better shape than me!"

"I'm glad they inspired you, grandma. Anyways, thanks for the hand lotion and the sculpture of the African woman. I'll let you get back to your show--"

"You're welcome. Thank you. I better get back to it!"

This exchange brought forth the realization that I may very well be sliding closer to my grandma's eccentric ways with each passing year. Oh, what does life have in store for me?













I am on a real photography kick here, due to the change of scenery I guess. Not to worry though, I'm sure I will be rambling on again very soon.

quiet corners over epic quests

Last night at the Buddhi Lounge. A low-lit, orange-hued virtual basement apartment. A sectioned off room insulated with baloons of various sizes. Biere blanche in intricate, German steins and pyramides du chocolat resting on a terrain of blue rock sugar. In the holographic gold bathroom, Dumbo was playing on a flickering screen, while paintbrushes waited in water dishes for impromtu decorating. A dj played serenely in an alcove, while a group of girls chatted over apple-flavoured sheesha in the corner.

"Est-ce que c'est votre premier fois ici?" asked the owner.

"Do you like this place? It's a baby still, only 5 months old!"

This place is a hidden gem. We paid our tabs in an apartment kitchen-turned bar. I gaped at all the jars of tea piled up on the shelves. I want to go back for the ethiopian coffee ceremony. I want more of those chocolate pyramids.

A recent re-thinking of social outings after one confusing night of bar-hopping that ended with this statement:

"Dallas, I made a list of places we should go, and this was not one of them. If this keeps up, I"m never going to find an indie-rock boyfriend!"

This is what happens when hipster culture goes too far. Or when you put a group of twentysomethings together who all have varying bar agendas. Trying to form a cohesive group out of a motley crew of individuals is like insisting that Ned Flanders, Paris Hilton, David Suzuki, Courtney Love and Fran Drescher agree on a definition of "fun." C'est impossible! First of all, when did going out start to be more about choosing places that meet specific criteria than looking for decent music and a few laughs. I guess this is how and when various social backgrounds are brought to bare.

Beyond the obvious scope of Montreal nightlife there are nifty little open mic nights, dives with dirty blues bands, and arts and crafts nights (where beer meets beading). The modest places are the hidden gems. When I go out I like to be surprised and thrilled by the night. If I wanted a predictable evening, I would stay inside, away from the howling winds. I like diversity of patrons over prestige of clientele, unusual beverages over high-priced cocktails, and most certainly, spontaneity over a meticulously-executed night.

In other news, I may or may not have been on French CTV last night. When approached by a francophone journaliste and cameraman yesterday, I froze in front of the lens like a deer in headlights, and ignored the internal voice which yelled "you're not good at French." Somehow I still stumbled to answer a rapidly-delivered question which I believe had something to do with politics. It later occured to me that they may have been asking about racial politics in Quebec, while my bumbling rant discussed only Dion and environmental politics. Oh, the shame, the shame.

As for tonight, I have a date with Opera Montreal. And this time I've finally found some people to go with. The last time I went, it was to Opera Hamilton and I was sandwiched between two hacking and wheezing geriatrics! Tonight is Lakme, and I can't wait to hear the famous flower duet.

My camera will be arriving back from Canon any day now, so pictures to come.

a year in review & a year in preview

I suddenly felt like a spoiled fool when, after silently lamenting the lack of change in my life, I realized that this year has been so saturated with change that I'm now brattily bored if things don't move for a few days! Good god I have trouble staying still. I have decided it's okay to stop rolling; I can be a sitting stone, and gather moss with my paitience.

I've been steering clear of the computer for some time now, and taking a break from all forms of work. Seeing how school is on the near horizon, it's time to get the old act together.

2006 was, for me, a year of change both wonderful and heartbreaking:

Last moments of student journalism and student theatre at Western. Hours upon hours applying for MA programs. Moving out of the student ghetto, and saying goodbye to my housemates. Graduation, a degree in hand, and the beginnings of another. Canadian travels: Banff and the continental divide in Alberta, a month of french immersion in northern Quebec. International travel: trekking through the UK, Ireland and parts of Western Europe with a certain lad and Amy's backpack. A death in the family, a friend's wedding on the horizon. Moving to Montreal. Moving in with my boyfriend. Falling in love with a city. Making it through first semester with pretty decent marks. Friends scattering across the globe: Washington, Florida, Ghana, Toronto, Tanzania, Ottawa, Japan. And coming home for the holidays...

Almost every aspect of 2006 required a lot of planning. I think I'm going to take a different approach to this year. For the first time in my life, I am consciously deciding not to plan. I'm just going to work, love, take lots of risks and see where I end up.

I went to the hair salon a few days ago, with no plan at all. My stylist up here is a brassy gal with a great imagination, and I gave her free reign with my locks. A lot of chopping, and a pile of hair on the floor later, I now have a voluminous cut called the "starshine halo". It's definitely bold, with layers as long as 10 inches, and as short as 3. It's risky, but I love it, and feel like a new lady.

Here's to the unexpected!

more tense than awkward?

“We condemn most in others what we most fear in ourselves”

-Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Hot chocolates and petit desserts are my best friends/worst enemies right now. They're good for the soul, and the student's morale, but not so good for my ever-expanding grosh 15 (grad student frosh, 15 pounds...well, maybe 5 pounds, but it doesn't feel pretty either way).

My body is lacking exercise, and daylight. I write all night and sleep til noon. I'm going to get rickets any day now. 4 hours of sunlight is not cutting it anymore. Soon I'll have to invest in one of those artificial sun lamps for people with basement rooms or Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD).

I was thinking more about sawk, or general awkwardness. I’ve decided to write off analyzing the gossip hens, and just vow not to become one. But, after talking to a few people, I’ve realized that what I was referring to as social awkwardness, is really just tension caused by changing lives and insecurity. I can’t really pass judgement on what it is like to be a proud mom, a bitter mom, or even menopausal. I can, however, talk about twentysomething tension with a fair degree of accuracy…I think.

I know I’ve talked about this before, but now that the holidays are coming up, I realize more than ever that things are not what they once were. Friendships are evolving, revolving, dissipating, and reappearing. Jobs are starting, ending or put on hold for other pursuits. Not all of us have equal amounts of money jingling in our pockets, equal education under our belts, or equal experiences with family, love, or traveling. I’m writing in general terms here, but:

But does difference of current situation mean we should turn away from each other?

Different pursuits, setbacks or accomplishments shouldn’t erase histories of relationships, but they seem to.

We used to be attracted to the things that were different or quirky about each other. Why should the trajectories of these quirks divide us?

Maybe we trust each other more than we think, and we’re diverging for a while, only to return later, once our issues have been tackled.

Do we see past versions of ourselves in our friends, and turn away from what we have tried to grow out of? Is a rekindled friendship like coming home to yourself?

I apologize for getting so sappy on you all. It's my tension talking.